What resonates through time? What is that ticking on the wall but a device, a machine but not a time machine. It is more like a constant reminder, reminding us to live life while we can. Through the years time takes all things with it to their end, moves them at their own pace or so it seems, more or less erased. Nothing remains the same. There is nothing better in life than to have more life, more time, more productive or for that matter, nonproductive years to live. The worst day here is better than the alternative.

Unquenchable quixotic souls move through eternal shadows, unknown, unknowable, to the mystic reaches out of reach. One of them is the seven year old boy Caldon Surreal.

Time left the ever young seven year old on its stony cold banks, rolled right on by him like a river tidal flood, moving over solid rocks as a current electrified, shaping what remained, something nameless through the corridors of time, a smooth and solitary subject, a power, a force of nature. He remained forever there fixed, immutable from that day forward, something unique in the cosmic network wonderment, from that point on, a black hole hidden beneath ancient solid ruins to the core, just another little boy.

Other rocks, other people get worn away by the reality that is. They call it aging and it spares no one and nothing in its path. Each element in nature decays in its own special way and rate, according to its make up. They all transform into the aether... not much else to be said... The predictability, inevitability that comes from and with the aging process, with the properties ever present in their nature ever present. There are no secrets in the cycle. All things must pass. There are no survivors caught in the trap, captured in the currents of time. No one escapes. no one is really a victim. Still... no thing... no one gets out alive.

Life moved on without the boy or should we say parallel to him since he is still here alive.

The parents? What parents? There were so many it is hard to know where to start. The original couple, the ones who gave him life, birth as we know it, knew him but not that well, at least they thought they did. What did they create?

They did there best. Something was peculiar though. They tried to deny it for so long. They sheltered him and themselves from the obvious conclusion, the truth, that something was wrong.

When Caldon's little friends grew up, grew taller and moved on with their lives. He did not grow with them, not even by one day, one hour. He did not grow, not even by one inch. His first set of parents were insightful ordinary people, professional business types. They took him to the scientific community, medical specialists, neurologist, psychologists and even the military brains became involved in this unusual circumstance or case, as they called it.

Truth be told; he remained solid through the transition when he turned seven. That came with a subtle change that transformed every ones life around him.

In an instance and to that end all knowledge of and about him became a mystery.

It ended at that moment on the spot and on the subject of said changes. Not that it matters but he did not phase in or out. His photons shook of course, electrons in his lungs continued with normalcy. Air filled them as usual, carrying a mixture of nitrogen, oxygen, dust and the other usual molecules and particles known to keep us biologically alive. Blood moved through his veins but fluctuated with an odd rhythmic cadence, in no particular or peculiar patterns known in the medical community to give rise to concern. He continued being Caldon, in and around him, down to the marrow of his bones, right down to the subatomic level at the moment of separation. It makes you wonder if things or persons can exist without the past, present or future. In fact it is unknown if time was ever a factor there in his small world before he came around, before he arrived at his state of the constant self but yet transformed to something else.

We know with some certainty, his parents cared for him. The story goes; they were well established in their community. John, his father worked at an amusement park as a ticket salesman and rides attendant. His mother, Maria was a part time nurse at the local clinic. They were nice wholesome people who loved and nurtured their only child.

When they realized their son did not age they became concerned. Doctors could not find any abnormalities. Scientists, neurologist and a vast array of specialists skills were drawn on to study the boy. Physiologists, psychologists, and yes, the military took an interest in the boy as well. They were all paraded in and out of his life over the years to discover what the boy was all about. They found nothing unusual. He was a healthy normal seven year old boy, nothing more. Being responsible parents they feared for their son being turned into a government experimental lab rat or that he might get beat up by the older boys at school for being different.

Eventually the family was forced to move to a new location every ten years or so because the people in the communities would become vexed by the boy, filled with fear, bordering on horror and hysteria. Children of similar age in the towns stayed clear of the boy. There was something unnatural about him. They could not put their finger on it but they instinctively knew something was not right.

At his recent school,the older boys from the upper-class took advantage of Caldon, who, for his part was a shy, small, good mannered boy with big green eyes that could melt your soul. A nasty gang of bullies came up from behind him one day, held him down on the asphalt playground and began to beat him to a pulp. One of the boys pulled out a sharpened pic ax that he had acquired from his fathers work shed just for such an occasion, began hacking away at innocent lad. The weapon came down hard on Caldon's head. Nothing happened. Their victim smiled, pushed the gang off, stood up, brushed himself off, walked serenely away, moved ever so slowly, nonchalantly as a matter of fact to class.

A few days later, the boys who perpetrated the crime disappeared without a trace. The law tried to take Caldon into custody for questioning and to pin charges on him. They could not hold him. They failed to mount a prosecution case. There was insufficient evidence; no bodies, no witnesses, no crime to prove and due to his tender years, after all, he was only seven. They had to let him go.

The families of the missing boys knew better. They wanted to burn the boy at the stake. They wanted him and his family punished, destroyed and removed at all cost.

After so many years of caring for a seven year old who would not age, his father became depressed, became withdrawn. He lost his job at the amusement park, began to drink heavily, more than usual and even stopped going out for walks. The neighbors avoided him when he would leave the house for any reason. His mother baked cookies, oatmeal and cinnamon cookies, to compensate for her concerns. They both became resigned to a life of misery and continued mystery. They would have to survive on the little money made by Maria at her nursing job.

More years passed for them. They declined with age. Their entire life devoted to love, tender care, protection and endless attention for their son came to an inevitable end. As all creatures moving through the proper course of life, their time came and they died. An uncaring world remained and continued on.

The boy buried them side by side in their basement, which was an old dirt holding area for coal and wood fire logs . It was a hideous dark place with poor dim yellow lighting. His task was a grotesque one. He accomplished it on his own. In a flood of tears, that fell relentlessly down his face, over the corner of his mouth and over the heavy shovel, he worked tirelessly to place his mom and dad in their final resting place. It was too much for a little boy.

He still had that gentle high pitched voice of youth and the sweet disposition of any typical child of his age. The hard work of installing his parents in hard earth, covering them over and saying good-bye, took a toll on the body and mind of his tender endless youth. Sometimes being seven is a trial.

Acquiring a new mom and dad would be easy. He simply walked to a near by town, (He was too young to drive a car. It would look suspicious if he did.)

He was normal enough, acted so ordinary in every way; happy, healthy, a permanent wide smile etched on his face, bright green eyes with a mild glean of melancholy around the edges, all made him the picture of perfection of a child who you would want to adopt, a perfect candidate for new interested parents.

A spring in his step and boyish charm would take him a long way in life. The days would accumulate in an endless parade of sameness and pass in endless succession. No one would suspect he has a special gift or secret. As you might expect, he ended up adopting new parents over the eons with skill and grace honed by the vast experiences developed simply by, what seemed to be, living for ever.

A leather pouch filled with different colored thick liquids in small vials, perhaps used to exculpate himself from the mundane, were carried about his waste on a rope where ever he went. (More about that later.) He had a silver glowing ancient globe that pulsed with a gold white light. (Origin unknown.) A thick book made of dark gray metal with undecipherable, in-discernible alien symbols were by his side as well when he traveled. That, in and of itself was not peculiar. No one, including himself could read it or decode it, not surprising since it was of another unworldly origin to begin with.

Caldon enjoyed reading. He would read about different cultures and civilizations from here and from far away. It did not matter to him if the stories were real or pretend. In his world all things were the same. His favorite real story is....

Ogone Mystery

Secret Knowledge, enlightenment, the unknowable and mysteries continue into eternity on Ogone. Answers are inconsequential. Questions are significant, more important to the inhabitants there than anywhere else in the mostly known, livable, populated quadrants of the cosmos.

As we have come to learn over the billions of millenniums, over the years gone by, U-235 atoms became the most important known question of all time. This really peaked Caldon's interest.

These numbers are now widely respected by every living sentient creature alive. Scientists and intellectuals love them. It is not simple luck, not random numbers.

Ever since they were furnished to us by the giant twin child brains, the mechanical ones, the ancient minds, who merged in the great electromagnetic halls of Ogone, the alien mechanical beings opened up new multidimensional portholes from the Ogone system. In recent history, 42 is gaining momentum with its significance throughout the known universe.. Seven is important too to the Ogone people. It is more than a number, not just a number but a condition.

There is much more to say about this and it will be forthcoming shortly.

Caldon decided on the spot he would settle down pertinently in a remote village called Swan Rocks. It was situated near a vast lake punctuated by massive pine trees about the shore line. Yellow birds always found their way home at night through the labyrinthine forest that folded silently on the flat lands as far as the eye could see.

A young man who called himself John met the wondering boy as he entered from the woods entrance or exit depending upon your perspective but it was somewhere along the edge of the wooded greens before the village. John looked puzzled, perplexed, surprised and in awe at first sight of the little boy. What was a boy doing out here in the middle of nowhere with no adult supervision?

They hit it off instantly and immediately began to play games. John was about 15 but a slow 15. He liked the simple things in life. Lets face it. He was simple. They ran in circles and threw stones in the lake. Life is great. John took Caldon with him to meet his parents. The parents were friendly but way too inquisitive. After an hour or so of interrogation they took the young boy into their confidence and more importantly, into their home. These were happy times.

John was not very bright but he noticed certain odd things about the new house guest. For instance; the boy never slept, never got a bug bite when the bugs were out in mass feeding on the population in the community. He never got a scratch or bruise from playing in the underbrush, dashing through the brier thistles or bumping into trees.

Caldon got around to telling John how much he liked his name. He informed him that his dad's name was John. Naturally his new friend wanted to know about the boys parents and former life with them. The younger boy would shrug his shoulders and say that they died of natural causes. What kind of natural causes John would inquire. Caldon would simply say, “Age” and then they would set about playing again.

Mr. and Mrs. Gondon, John's parents, started to change. They naturally grew old along with their son who was now 32. Caldon was still 7. More years passed. He remained 7.

Being 7 was normal for him. It was his normal. No one else in the village shared his view, including the Gordon's. They were filled with apprehension and fear. First they became suspicious. Then they became frightened. After that they became terrified. The boy could not help being who he was.

One Spring morning John was face to face with his ever little friend. He asked him if he wanted to go to the lake to skip some stones. Mr. Gordon came up behind Caldon with a double barreled shot gun aimed directly at the middle of his head, started to pull the triggers to shoot. Caldon said, “If you do that you and Mrs. Gordon will disappear in two days.” The man dropped the riffle, lifted his eyes to heaven and after a while walked away in a daze. Mrs. Gordon came out with a worried look on her face, asked them if she could get them something. The younger boy said that he would like some oatmeal cinnamon cookies. The lady returned inside and set about baking feverishly.

Caldon started to back off from all his relationships with the people there including John. He still saw him but less frequently. He started to spend time at the church. Not for any religious reasons. He liked the stained glass window at the back of the structure. The clear story was ancient, round, magnificent, with dazzling colors. It made him feel strong, complete and at one with nature.

One day, out of the clear blue, a young man dressed in a pure black business suit entered the village, driving an exotic emerald green vehicle. He was an intellectual, a man of science, a scary person from unknown origins. The people feared him more than the boy. The unknown is always traumatic. The stranger seemed to levitate from the vehicle. He almost floated or hovered above them. This is only speculation though because the entire community disappeared at the first sight of the man at the moment of his arrival and they hid behind closed locked doors in their homes, shivering from head to toe with eyes closed tightly. Fear gripped them, strangled them, shook them nearly to death but certainly to their core.

Caldon came out from the church to greet the man with his wide child eyes and friendly smile. The man touched his bright red tie, set it back again inside the jacket against the white clean shirt and smiled back. He was in search of uranium 48B. He was also in a hurry but did not show it. There was no time for small talk so he walked past the little boy with a smirk and a derivative gesture.

No one would come to the door or answer the loud obnoxious knocks that could have woken up the dead had they been present. The stranger persisted from door to door. The results were the same.

The boy followed him around for hours. Finally the man relented. He told the boy he was in a hurry and that he would have to do. The man looked down solemnly on Caldon with cold black eyes orbiting around with complexity inside square rimmed glasses. The boy could sense the wheels of evil churning about in there, sinister, calculating in that large stiff head up there.

He looked up at the stone cold face, spoke calmly and presented it like this; Regarding U- 235, notice that one neutron was used, but three were produced. These three neutrons, if they encounter other U-235 atoms, can initiate other fission, producing even more neutrons. It’s the old domino effect. In terms of nuclear chemistry, it’s a continuing cascade of nuclear fission called a chain reaction. There is no reason why you need uranium 48B when U-235 will suffice.

The man looked into space then drove away.

It is time to reveal the contents of the leather bag that were mentioned earlier when it was said, “more about that later” It is later and becoming later still. The boy has his leather pouch filled with thick colored liquids in vials, carrying a silver glowing ancient globe that pulsed with a gold white light. “Origin unknown.”< (Still remains unknown), a thick book made of dark gray metal with undecipherable, in-discernible alien symbols. It is speculated that these items, all of them, came originally from planet Ogone. The leather bag with the vials contained therein are filled with traces of U-235 and traces or samples of 48B.

It appears that the odd stranger in the business suit was clearly on to something. Fortunately for the little boy, he was able to live out his normal life, though a less populated life at that.